


Not With Haste

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Fluff, Fools in Love, Future Fic, Post Season 3, Slow Burn, the usual you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-canon: Long after they’ve saved the world, Clarke and Bellamy try to get their shit together.</p><p>(Or, how Clarke comes to realize she might need a bit more than subtlety to get her point across.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not With Haste

**Author's Note:**

> This popped into my head and wouldn't leave. It's really just fluff (gasp). Also I don't pretend to have any idea how they save the world. Title from my fave song by Mumford and Sons.

“That should do it.” Clarke ties off the net the way Luna taught her and wipes sweat from her brow. Beside her, Bellamy looks out at their catch for the day and nods approvingly. She can see him counting out their supply in his head, lost in the mental math of rations and days ‘til winter. She smiles to herself. Always thinking of everyone else. A lot may have changed since they saved the world, but Bellamy hasn't. 

His shoulders remain tight with tension that Clarke suspects will never loosen. It’s built into him now, the inherent inability to fully relax. She understands. The ground has a way of doing that to everyone. But the others usually find a way to let go, even for just a moment. Not Bellamy, though. He’s been their protector, their shield, for so long now that it’s ingrained in him. 

Still his eyes shine as he takes in their burgeoning seaside community, and she knows he’s proud. So proud of what they’ve built, despite the odds that said they should’ve been long dead by now. That’s due to him, so much more than he’ll ever acknowledge—so she makes it her own mission to remind him. Because she knows better than anyone how the scars remain. How he wonders if he even deserves this life. 

Bellamy turns to her then, mouth open to speak, but his words die fast and Clarke knows she didn’t hide her thoughts as well as she normally does.

So she smiles, falsely bright, and sets her hands on her hips. “What’s the verdict? Think the fish will last the month?” 

She’s giving him an out, and they both know it, but he takes it anyways.

“We’ll be lucky to make it a week with the way the kids are eating.” Though he grumbles, there’s no hiding the affection in his voice. He loves seeing the young ones running around as much as she does. His eyes go a little soft for a moment, and Clarke has to duck her head to study the sand, because it’s too much. 

Bellamy clears his throat. “I should find Miller. Let him know the trade’s ready to go tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t forget the blo—”

“Blood root, I know,” he finishes with a grin. “Hard to forget with you nagging me all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clarke gives him a little shove, smiling. A powerful gust of wind comes off the water, whipping through their clothes. Her hair lashes across her face. She reaches up to push it away, but Bellamy’s already there, gently smoothing strands of hair behind her ear. Her pulse leaps and trips and staggers.

After a second too long, he catches himself and takes a step back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Clarke forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. See you.”

She watches his tall form stride up the beach, pausing to high-five a few kids that tear past him. Now and then he’ll look inland, towards the forest, and she knows he’s thinking of his sister. 

When all was said and done, Octavia chose not to come with them to the ocean. She’d made a fragile sort of peace with Bellamy, but there was still too much anger in her heart for her to exist with them as if things were the same. Clarke knew Indra would find a way to channel that anger, use it as fuel for something productive. Bellamy knew it, too.

It hadn’t made it any easier for him to leave her that day. Clarke would never forget the lost look in his eyes the entire journey to the water, the way he kept turning his head occasionally as if to share in a joke only to find an empty space where Octavia normally would’ve been. He’d barely eaten until she threatened to force-feed him late into the night while the others were asleep. She’d stayed awake with him, sometimes talking and sometimes just sitting in silence, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

After getting settled by the sea, they began making trips to the villages inland. Octavia’s always there when they come by, flying out to welcome her big brother. Seeing her re-energized with a purpose seemed to make it better for Bellamy, too. After the first such trip he’d been almost jovial on their trip home, unable to stop talking about Octavia, and Clarke had been all too happy to listen, enlivened by his near-permanent smile. 

“Could you two be any more obvious?”

Raven’s dry comment makes her jump. Her friend stands beside her, arms crossed and eyebrow arched high. Clarke rolls her eyes and begins to drag the nets further ashore. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." Raven steps in front of her when she tries to brush past. "Hey, Clarke, come on. Cut the crap, okay?" She grasps her arm, firm yet gentle. "Everyone knows how you feel.”

Clarke swallows and glances to where Bellamy’s talking to Murphy. _”Everyone?”_

Raven follows her gaze. “Okay, _almost_ everyone,” she amends. “That dolt would stand by your side forever and not say a word about it if you asked him to.”

“I’d never—”

“I _know_ you wouldn’t, Clarke, that’s not my point. What I want to know is _when_ are you going to do something about it?”

Clarke folds her arms around herself digging her toes into the sand. “It’s not that simple, Raven.”

“It is from where I’m standing.” When she stays silent, Raven forces her to sit, settling down beside her. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

She sighs and looks her friend in the eye. “Everyone I love is gone. Every time I try, every time I think it might be okay to let my guard down— they’re gone, and I’m still here. It’s my fault. I can’t— It’s _Bellamy._ I can’t lose him, Raven.”

“Clarke,” Raven grips her arm tightly, _”you_ are not the common factor here.” When she scoffs, her friend shakes her. “Hey. You say everyone you love is gone? What about me, huh? What about Abby, and Monty, and Jasper, and Harper? You don’t love us?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Clarke protests.

“I know it’s different with him. I get it. But we’re still here. I thought you'd give us more credit by now," Raven admonishes, and Clarke has to look away for a moment. She does, of course she does, she knows her people are impossibly strong. But the fear that overtakes her is just as strong some days. She whispers as much, and Raven sighs and swings an arm around her, tucks her head on her shoulder. They're silent for a while, just listening to the bustle of people behind them and the waves rushing ashore. 

"It's not that I don't want to try," Clarke finally says softly.

Raven nods. "For what it’s worth, I think Bellamy deserves a say in this too. But he’s never going make the first move, Clarke. This is on you.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

A bittersweet look crosses Raven’s face, and Clarke somehow knows what she’s going to say before her mouth opens. “Because I was here after you left. I saw what it did to him.” Raven squeezes her shoulder until she opens her eyes again. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. But he’s never going to tell you, and someone should. He’ll always be here for you, Clarke. But he’s not going to be the one to take it further. It has to come from you. He has to know it’s what you want.”

Clarke stares at her friend, then at Bellamy in the distance. “How could he not know already?”

“Because he’s scared. Just like you are.” Raven’s voice softens. “If you don’t believe me, just try to get him to say something. Try to tell him in your own way, and see how far you get.”

~~~~~~~~~

It’s still takes Clarke three full days after her conversation with Raven to muster the courage to try. 

The first night, she lays awake, wondering what _trying_ even amounts to anymore. In the middle of war, things were more immediate; the urgency was always palpable. It made her act quickly, and sometimes rashly. But now that the smoke has cleared, she finds she’s not even sure where to start anymore. 

On the second day, she finds herself once again in Bellamy’s company. They’re poring over an old map, marking off the landmarks that fall into each sector and discussing where best to scavenge next. He leans close to point at something, his breath ghosting along her jaw, and her whole body aches with the urge to simply lean into him, nuzzle the hollow of his neck and fit herself under his chin.

She doesn’t, but later she wonders—what if she had? 

That night, she resolves her internal battle. In everything else, she’s followed her instincts and they haven’t lead her astray. So she’ll stop fighting herself now, too, and see what happens. Take a leap of faith, as it were.

Maybe she’ll crash and burn worse than ever. Or maybe, she’ll fly.

~~~~~~~~~

The opportunity presents itself soon after she wakes the next morning. Bellamy intercepts her on the way to see Raven, tsk-ing at her and mockingly shaking a finger.

“Let me guess, skipped breakfast again.” He reaches into his bag and holds out an apple and a clay bowl of blueberries. “Good thing I grabbed extra,” he says, as if he doesn’t do the same thing nearly every day.

Clarke smiles and takes the food, then goes to her tiptoes to give him a swift hug. “Thanks, Bellamy,” she whispers against his ear. 

He still looks taken aback when she lets go, so she just offers another smile as if her heart’s not beating a mile a minute and pops a blueberry into her mouth, heading for Raven’s cabin. At the door, she chances a look over her shoulder and finds him rubbing his neck the way he does when he’s puzzled. His eyes drift to her right as she ducks inside.

Ever perceptive, Raven gives her a onceover. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Clarke says, then winces at her high voice. “So tell me how your leg’s doing. For real this time.”

The medbay keeps her busy all morning. She and her mom barely have time to say hello. There’s no shortage of sliced fingers, cracked soles; everyone’s still getting used to the thick twine nets and the sand that hides all manner of sharp, broken things. Clarke’s had her own fair share of cuts and bruises since they put down camp here.

Around midday Harper and Miller bring in a young boy who’s still coughing up seawater. Clearing up a cot, Clarke motions for them to set him down. “What happened?” 

“Went out farther than he should have.” Harper’s the one who answers, and it’s only then that Clarke notices Miller’s soaked and out of breath.

“Did you—?”

He shakes his head. “Bellamy.”

Her eyes widen. “But Bellamy can’t swim!” The panicked voice that echoes back doesn’t sound like her own. Harper squeezes her shoulder at the same time that Miller grasps her elbow.

“Kane and I went after him. He’s fine, just winded. Kane’s sitting with him outside.”

Clarke closes her eyes in relief, then pulls Miller into an awkward half-hug. “Thank you.” Over his shoulder, her mother watches her but doesn’t say anything. Clarke has a feeling she might hear about it later. Or Raven will. Gathering herself, she turns back to the young boy on the cot, offering a shaky smile. “Alright bud, let’s get you checked out.”

By the time his mom comes in minutes later, scooping him up and scolding him for being so careless, he’s half-asleep from exhaustion. Clarke gives her a few instructions for things to look out for, then leaves Harper do the reassuring as she bolts out the door.

Bellamy’s hunched by the water, his head between his knees. His chest expands and contracts in a measured rhythm as he gulps in air. Kane rests a hand on his shoulder, catching her eye and nodding. 

Usually the sight of him would be enough to calm her until she could deal with the panic on her own, alone with her thoughts. But this time she can't quell the gratitude in her heart, or the voice in her head that insists on making sure he's truly okay. They've had so many close calls— for her to lose him because of something like _this..._ Clarke can't even finish the thought. She suddenly needs to touch him, just needs the physical confirmation that he's here and it's okay. Her feet propel her forward until she drops to her knees in front of Bellamy and hugs him with enough force that he nearly falls backward on the sand.

“Whoa—Clarke, hey,” Bellamy’s voice is a little shot from all the coughing, but his arms are comfortably strong as they encircle her waist. “I’m fine,” he says softly.

“I know.” The words are muffled against his skin, sounding too small for her liking, but there's nothing to be done about it. Bellamy exhales against her neck, a tired puff of air, and lets her hold him a little longer.

“I expect both you and little Timothy have had enough of the ocean for one day,” Kane says lightly, and Clarke smiles at him before pulling back, belatedly noting he’s also soaked to the bone. A bit embarrassed at herself, she doesn’t notice Bellamy’s gaze, not at first, but when she does it makes her flush and stand quickly. 

“Come on, you both need to be checked out just in case. And we're starting swimming lessons for everyone tomorrow.”

Bellamy glances at Kane with a slight grin. “Told you she wouldn’t let it go.” He sounds almost fond about it, and she doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I’d expect no less from Abby’s daughter,” the older man says, hauling Bellamy to his feet.

~~~~~~~~~

Predictably, Bellamy insists on taking his post as usual that night, stubborn mule that he is. Clarke gives up her argument halfway through and stomps off only to run into Monty, who proudly shows off the day’s finds. Latching on to the distraction, she sorts through the herbs and nuts and fruits until she comes across one in particular that pulls her mind right back to Bellamy. She sighs and puts the peach in her bag, ignoring Monty’s grin as she marches out the door.

He’s sitting on one end of the beach, legs stretched out in front of him, his rifle balanced on his knees. His elbows rest on the huge log behind him. At her footsteps, he looks up and then away again.

“If you’re here to yell at me some more—”

“I’m not,” Clarke says, and plops down next to him, holding out the peach. Bellamy’s eyes light up and she grins.

“For me?”

She nods. “I asked Monty to keep an eye out today. Apparently they’re in season or something.” She shrugs at his look. “Luna mentioned it. They’re your favorite, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Clarke.” He sounds a bit surprised, but bites into the fruit instantly, making a small noise of content, and she has to laugh. He grins back. It takes years off his face. A thin trickle of juice slides down his chin and she has the inane urge to lean in and suck it right off, bite a little at the curve of his jaw while she’s at it. She turns her face to the water, hoping the darkness hides her blush.

“You should get some rest,” Bellamy murmurs in between bites. 

“I am,” she says, drawing her knees up and leaning against the log. He gives her a half-smile, the one that says, _fine, you win,_ and holds the peach out to her. She takes a few bites before tossing it back to him. “All yours,” she says when he tries to give it back. 

They sit in silence for a while as the last of the sun disappears, and Clarke wrestles with the need to touch him again, to physically reassure herself he’s alright. Normally she’d push that thought away, lock it up neatly and not deal with it, but Raven’s words keep echoing in her mind.

_He has to know it’s what you want._

So she shifts closer and rests her head on his shoulder, not missing the way he freezes momentarily. “You scared me,” she says into the dark.

After a beat, his fingers stroke her wrist. “I had to go after him.” He’s not apologetic, and she doesn’t expect him to be. She knows he’d go back and do it again, just like she’d have done the same.

“I know. I was just— I’m glad you’re okay.”

Bellamy doesn’t answer, but she thinks she hears him sigh.

~~~~~~~~~

She wakes up with a crick in her neck the next day, and it takes her a minute to remember she fell asleep on Bellamy’s shoulder late into the night until he woke her to walk back to their cabins. He hadn’t said anything, just kept a hand on her back as they walked, and waited until she went inside before continuing on to his own cot.

If she feels this sore, she can only imagine how he must be feeling after the past day’s events. Noticing the sun’s not quite up yet, she decides she can bring him breakfast for once. She dresses quickly and heads to the mess hall. Her eyes land the fresh strawberries piled high on a plate and she grins triumphantly. Bellamy has a sweet tooth, as she’s recently found out. She fills a bowl with strawberries and tops it with walnuts before carefully making her way to his cabin. Bellamy opens the door just as she raises a hand to knock. 

“Clarke?”

“Morning.” She holds out the food. “Figured I should make sure you eat, for once.”

A perplexed smile breaks across his features. “Thanks.” Not missing a beat, he asks, “Did you eat yet?”

“Oh, well, I’m—”

“Nope. You hesitated.” He swipes the bowl and steers her over to one of their unused fire pits, and Clarke’s sitting before she even realizes it. Bellamy holds out the bowl, waiting expectantly. She gives in with a grin and takes a handful, making sure he does the same before starting to eat. As he looks out at the sun slowly rising over the water, Clarke finds herself studying him more. She wonders what it would be like to shift over a few inches, to pull his head into her lap and give him lazy morning kisses in the middle of planning the day’s work. 

It’s only because she’s watching too closely that she begins to notice the awkward stretch he does every couple of minutes, trying to be subtle about how he can’t turn completely to his left and how his right shoulder doesn’t have a full range of motion.

“You’re in pain.” She’s already moving over, arms outstretched to find the source. Her hands skate down his sides, checking for any tender skin she missed the previous day. “Bellamy, you should’ve said something,” she scolds.

“Nothing—ow! Nothing serious,” he grits out. “Probably just pulled something.”

She gives him a look before going back to poking and prodding. “You could seriously hurt yourself if you’re not careful. Maybe you should take it easy today—”

“Nope, no way, Clarke. I’m not just sitting around while everyone works.” Bellamy shifts out of her reach and stands, backing away. “We’ve gotta get going on that raft, and the guys need more spears made for training…”

Clarke lets him ramble on his list, knowing she has to pick her battles. Standing, she holds out the food. “Would you at least take the rest of this?” She fights the urge to stomp her foot when he shakes his head. “Seriously, I’m full. My stomach’s already hurting.”

“It’s hurting because it’s empty,” he calls, striding off.

“Idiot,” Clarke seethes, and shoves the rest of the strawberries into her mouth.

She doesn’t see him the rest of the morning, caught up in the medbay with several patients. Her mother is occupied delivering twins, so she ends up running around twice as much, trying to make sure everyone gets attended to. By mid-afternoon, though, Clarke gets concerned when no one seems to know where Bellamy is.

 _He probably decided to go take down a boar all by himself just to spite me—_ Pushing into Bellamy's cabin without knocking, she finds him splayed out on his cot, his face half-smashed into the pillow. Her anger evaporates. She considers just letting him sleep, but her fingers itch to ease his pain, lines be damned. Quietly closing the door behind her, she sits beside his cot. Bellamy’s eyes open, heavy and exhausted.

“Be out soon,” he mutters sleepily.

Clarke snorts. “Shut up, Bellamy.” His retort is lost in a sigh as she brushes her hand across his forehead, raking her nails through his mussed hair. When she reaches his neck, she presses down on the knot and he curses, gripping the pillow.

“Maybe I overdid it yesterday,” he mumbles.

“You think?” Clarke frowns and rubs more gently at his neck. He groans, but it’s from relief this time. “Feel good?” She says softly.

“Yeah,” he sighs, half-asleep.

“Good,” she says, and doesn’t stop until he’s passed out on his bedroll. She lingers a bit longer than she really needs to, just brushing a hand over his forehead and along his spine, exasperated and infatuated all at once. When he stirs in his sleep though, she snatches her hand away, feeling silly, and heads for the door. But then she thinks of something else.

The dreams don’t come as often now, and when they do she knows, because she’ll find him sitting on the beach in silence instead of making his voice heard through camp. She’s sat by him enough times, skimming pebbles across the water until he’s ready to go again. Sometimes he needs to talk; other times she just sets her shoulder against his and lets him be. More than once he's returned the favor.

There’s no telling when or how. But, she’s here now, so maybe for once Bellamy can wake to a familiar face instead of his empty cabin, dreams or no. It’s clear everyone can do just fine without them for a little while. So instead Clarke turns back to the boy on the bed and moves further into the dark cabin.

When Bellamy wakes nearly two hours later, she’s half-asleep against the wall next to his cot, her small notebook of known herbs dangling from one hand. His movement makes her raise her head and smile sleepily, not quite registering his astonishment at finding her there.

“How do you feel?”

After another long look that makes her stomach flip, he sits up and stretches tentatively. “Better. A lot better.” He rubs his neck and looks at her for a long moment. “Were you here the whole time?”

Clarke shrugs. “Yeah. Had some reading to catch up on,” she jokes, tucking away her notebook. Hopefully he hadn’t seen the sketch she’d done of his sleeping form. It felt oddly intimate, drawing him when he wasn’t aware, but—she hadn’t been able to help it. He was so still and peaceful for once that it had calmed her own mind. She’d just wanted to capture that feeling somehow. Glancing up, Clarke finds his curious gaze still on her. Despite the darkness of the cabin, it makes her feel laid bare.

“Well,” she says, standing and brushing off her pants, “I’m glad you’re better. We’ve got a lot to catch up on today.”

She gets to the door when Bellamy clears his throat. “Clarke…” She pauses, wondering what might come next, but then he just nods. “Uh, thanks.”

“Sure,” she manages, and escapes into the bright sunlight.

~~~~~~~~~

“You’re right,” she groans, flopping onto Raven’s cot that night. “He thinks I’m being nice. _Nice,_ Raven.”

“Are you waiting for me to say _I told you so?”_

“Kind of.” Clarke tosses an arm over her eyes. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because you like making things hard,” Raven responds. At Clarke’s glare, she sets a hand on her hip. “What? I’m just stating the facts, Clarke. You’re going to have to spell it out for loverboy. There’s no way around it. Monty, would you tell her I’m right?”

“She’s right,” Monty drawls from the corner as Clarke sits up with a yelp.

“You could’ve warned me he was in here,” she says to Raven.

Raven merely shrugs. “What difference would it make? It’s not like it’s a secret. I told you everyone knows already. ”

Clarke flops back down on the pillow with a sigh. Monty settles on the edge of the cot and pats her leg gently. “Face it, Clarke. The entire camp could tell him and he still wouldn’t believe it.”

“Thanks, Monty. Really motivating.”

“I’m just saying there’s no other way around it. It’s nice of you to try subtlety, but it’s going to take more than that to get your point across.”

“So what, I should just start kissing him and hope he kisses me back?”

She meant for it to be a joke, but she when she opens her eyes both Monty and Raven look pensive. She sits up abruptly.

“Okay, I wasn’t serious about that.”

“We know,” they say, exchanging a look.

“Stop that,” Clarke orders. “Stop whatever you’re thinking. I’m not going to do it.” She leaves before they can rope her into whatever far-fetched idea has taken over their heads.

~~~~~~~~~

She’s still steaming over it a few days later when they take their trip inland to Octavia’s village. Kane is accompanying them, as usual. He remains fascinated by Grounder politics; he’ll take any chance to see the inner workings of a tribe. Monty, Raven, and Jasper have tagged along this time. They haven’t seen Octavia in a while, so everyone’s keyed up, ready for a celebration. It’s hard for Clarke to stay irritated with all that— and especially with Bellamy practically bouncing along next to her. Each step is light and free; his infectious grin reaches for miles.

“Did I tell you she was getting promoted?” He asks her. 

Clarke laughs. “Only like ten times,” she teases, poking him lightly. “But tell me again.”

“Indra said she’s made so much progress, she’s gonna move up in the ranks faster than the others. I can’t remember the title, but it sounded badass.” He reaches out to grab fruit off a low-hanging branch. Clarke doesn’t miss his grimace, or how he rubs his shoulder occasionally, but says nothing yet, instead prodding him for more stories.

Octavia drops from a tree well before they even reach the gate of her village. Before Bellamy can scold her for scaring the shit out of all of them, she’s grabbed him in a fierce hug, smiling at everyone over his shoulder. 

“Come on! We’re having a party tonight and Skaikru is invited,” Octavia tugs Bellamy forward excitedly, and Clarke and the others hurry to follow. 

Indra meets them at the gate, reserving a rare smile for Kane. They walk inside together, already chatting. The others crowd around Octavia, trading anecdotes and light barbs as Bellamy looks on fondly. Before she can overthink it, Clarke takes his hand and pulls him into the group as they head farther into camp. He glances over with wide eyes, but doesn't let go.

The Grounders have indeed laid out a feast, apparently unconcerned with the trade talks at the moment. Meat and fruit and wine occupy a long table, and many of the Grounders have already dug in. It's a far cry from their usual serious nature, but it's also kind of awesome.

“Leave the business for tomorrow, come on,” Octavia cajoles. “We’ve got food and drink and I haven’t seen you all in like a month!”

Everyone turns pleading eyes towards Clarke, who automatically glances at Bellamy. They grin.

It’s easy to get swept up. All the previous arguments and battles and sacrifices only make this moment more precious to them for how unattainable it once seemed.

“So what’s all this for?” Clarke wonders.

“The start of summer,” Octavia’s at her elbow, pushing a goblet of wine into her hand. “The Grounders celebrate the start of each new season and give thanks for the past one.” She winks. “Trust me, you want them drunk. You’ll get more out of the trade tomorrow.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh with her, missing how Bellamy looks over at them both with genuine warmth. “Fair enough. Though I wonder what it takes to get some of these guys drunk.” She nods at the burlier men.

“Less than you’d think.” Octavia’s sly as ever. “Lightweights.”

Soon they’ve carved out a space for themselves to sit cross-legged, watching the festivities from their own little corner. Octavia still wears the fearsome paint around her eyes, but otherwise even she seems more relaxed. Her knives are tucked into their sheaths along her legs, and her sword remains in reach even as she lounges beside Bellamy; Clarke hasn’t missed how even the Grounders treat her with respect now, how Indra’s proud glance follows her everywhere. But for the moment, she’s Bellamy’s little sister again, occasionally punching him when he teases.

Clarke takes it all in happily. She knows how grateful he is to have his sister’s trust again, and how terrified he once was that he’d never regain it. But she’d always known he would. Because if one thing had held true all this time, it was that Bellamy would go to the ends of the earth for the people he cared about. What he doesn’t seem to get is that the reverse is also true. Beyond anything, Clarke desperately wants for him to be happy, to know that he’s not only trusted, but loved. Deeply. 

She doesn’t notice Octavia’s thoughtful gaze on her right away, and it’s masked too quickly for her to decipher. Instead the other girl just grins mischievously at Raven. Clarke narrows her eyes. She does _not_ want to stick around for whatever the two of them are planning.

Turns out she doesn’t have much choice.

The drums start without warning. One by one, people join in to dance, the mood turning more playful by the second. Clarke looks around as both men and women alike begin to pull their partners up to take part. It's all too obvious what's happening. Not quite able to look at Bellamy, she glares at Raven instead. Her friend just wiggles her eyebrows in clear suggestion.

“Come on,” Octavia stands and pulls Jasper to his feet. “Let me introduce you to some people.” 

As they walk away, Raven aims a look at Clarke, then turns to Monty. “Think they’ve got anything stronger than this wine?” 

“Let’s find out.” He offers her his arm.

Clarke stares at her own drink as they leave, her cheeks heating at the blatant setup. A few others pass by, their boots tapping a frenetic pattern on the ground. She can’t tell if Bellamy knows what’s going on, or if he even cares, but this is one thing she’s not brave enough for. Draining the last of her cup, she stands, fully intending to get away from all this. Instead the world spins. Bellamy’s up in an instant, arms out to steady her as she tries to blink away her dizziness.

He leans close, swarming her senses. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I just—” Behind him, the drums are getting louder. “Can we go for a walk or something?”

Brow still furrowed in concern, he looks around, then nods when he finds an escape route. They pass a few dancers with the pretense of getting more to drink. Then Bellamy guides her smoothly around the table and they slip behind the hut entirely. Bellamy’s arm stays around her back as they head further into the village, finally stopping outside an empty cabin. Clarke leans gratefully against the wall, her head no longer spinning.

“Thanks,” she says softly.

He eyes her in concern. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Really. Should’ve eaten more, that’s all.” Now that they’re farther from the music, Clarke finds the melody’s actually slowed a little. It’s kind of nice. She doesn’t realize she’s been swaying along to it until Bellamy chuckles beside her. “What?” She asks, smiling.

“We could’ve stayed if you wanted to dance,” he says lightly.

Clarke looks up at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you would dance.”

 _”I_ wouldn’t. But you clearly want to.”

She pouts. “Who would be my partner then?”

He grins. “I’m sure you’d have your pick. There’d be a line to dance with _Wanheda.”_ It’s not intentional, she knows it’s not, but the old name makes her wrinkle her nose and look away. Bellamy grasps her elbow. His voice is gentle. “Hey. I was just kidding.”

“I know,” she mumbles. 

“I mean it,” he insists, ducking his head until her eyes meet his. “You’ll always be Clarke to me, alright? Stubborn, nagging, pain-in-the-ass Clarke Griffin.” 

“Who’re you calling stubborn,” she retorts, but squeezes his hand to let him know she's past it. He smiles warmly, and it does strange things to her body. Biting her lip, she tilts her head to one side and glances up through her lashes. “So you really think I would have my choice of partners?” When he nods, Clarke takes a chance and steps into his personal space. “What if I picked you?”

Bellamy’s lips part in a soft breath, but nothing else comes out. Clarke smiles and loops her arms around his neck. “Would you dance with me, Bellamy?”

His hands settle on her waist before his mouth even opens, but she waits to hear it anyways. “Yeah. Yes. I would.”

She beams. “Good. So let's dance.”

“Clarke—” Bellamy starts to pull back, and no, she’s not having that at all. Not tonight.

“Careful,” she warns, tipping to the side exaggeratedly. His hands girp her waist again, harder. “I think that wine’s hitting me harder than I thought. You’d better hold on to me.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to be mad if you let me fall and break my nose.”

The edges of his mouth pull into a shy grin before he looks off into the night. Then his arms tighten, circling her waist completely. His chin settles atop her head. And ever so slowly, they begin to sway in the dark. Clarke smiles against his jacket and closes her eyes. 

Victory.

~~~~~~~~~

“Let me get this straight.” Raven puts a hand to her forehead in disbelief. “You _slow danced_ but did not kiss.”

“Yup.” Clarke flicks her eyes towards the front of the group where Bellamy’s walking with Monty. He's shifting his right shoulder again, as if to shake off some old pain that's clearly lingering. It bothers her even more than the fact that he made absolutely no move to kiss her after that wonderful dance. She makes a mental note to check on it later, then continues her inventory of what was gained in the trade until a hard poke to her side makes her squeak. “What?”

“Don’t _what_ me! There was wine, there was music, it was all _right there,”_ Raven bemoans. “What do we have to do to get you two idiots to—”

Clarke claps a hand over her mouth. Her friend’s rising voice has Bellamy turning to glance over his shoulder in question. She throws him a falsely cheery smile and thumbs up. “You can stop being so obvious,” she hisses after he’s turned around again. “It’s like you said, you can yell about it all you want, but he’s never going to do anything about it.”

“I know _he_ won’t. What I don’t get is why _you’re_ still waiting.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that. “I’m working on it,” she says finally. “But you guys meddling isn’t helping me at all. I mean, come on, Raven. Don't tell me the Grounders magically decided to hold their party the day we arrived.”

“They hadn't picked a date yet,” Raven sniffs. “I just offered a suggestion.”

Clarke shakes her head. “You’re the worst romantic out of all of us.”

“Not romantic, just practical. The sooner you two stop mooning over each other, the sooner we can all move on.”

“Who says we’d stop mooning over each other even if we did… you know.” Clarke shoves Raven when she looks like she’s going to laugh. “Seriously, what if it just becomes worse? You’ll have doomed the camp to an eternity of us being all— well. It’ll be your fault.”

“An _eternity,_ huh?” Her friend is all-out smirking now, and Clarke knows she’s talked herself into a hole. Grumbling under her breath, she hurries to catch up to the others at the front. Monty passes her on the way with a wink, no doubt heading to gossip with his partner in crime.

Clarke doesn’t realize she’s glaring until Bellamy’s breath warms her ear. “Wanna loop me in here?”

“Huh?” She turns to find his face inches from hers, dark eyes twinkling over that perfect patch of freckles she just wants to kiss for _days._

A second later, she’s facedown on the forest floor. 

“Are you alright?” Bellamy crouches beside her, his hand gentle as he brushes her hair aside. She winces at the tightness in her chest when she sits and tries to take a breath. That’s gonna hurt for a while. Bellamy keeps one hand on her back, the other gently wiping dirt and who knows what else from her face. Everything about him is soft with concern. “Maybe we should take a break. Did you skip a meal again or something?”

“I was—” Clarke pauses to wheeze, gulping down some water from the flask he offers. “I was right next to you at breakfast. Remember, all the cranberries?” They’d each been brought a plate heaped with food. Apparently their hasty exist the night before had been mistaken for something else entirely.

His brow knits; she thinks the tips of his ears might be red. “Still, you look kind of pale. We should stop for a bit.” He raises his voice to tell the others, reminding them to stay within sight. Clarke keeps her head down, not needing to see the amused gazes likely being directed her way.

Scooting back on the ground, she leans back against a thick tree trunk, tilting her head to the sky. Bellamy sits right next to her, still studying her face with that worried expression.

“Relax, Bellamy. I just tripped. Nothing else.”

His frown only deepens. “But you’re not usually clumsy.”

 _And you’re not usually this distracting,_ she nearly says, but bites her tongue at the last second. It would be a lie anyways. She’s always aware of him, so much that it’s become almost second-nature. Except lately noticing him doesn’t just involve making sure he’s within sight or conferring about a treaty, but wanting to tug him down for a kiss in the middle of the day or snuggle into his arms by the fire.

Clarke closes her eyes again, irritated. The first couple times her head droops, she snaps out of it, but by the third time she’s right up against Bellamy, the cool leather of his jacket so comfortable and familiar that she just sinks deeper into sleep. Vaguely, she hears him chuckle.

“Just a few minutes,” she murmurs.

~~~~~~~~~

By the time she wakes, she’s moving again, though it takes her a few bleary seconds to figure out how exactly. The gentle swaying movement nearly rocks her right back to sleep. She starts to do just that and finds Bellamy’s jacket still rough and worn against her cheek . When she looks up she’s met with tanned skin and a stubborn jaw.

“Bellamy?”

He looks down, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Clarke’s just now noticing his grip under her knees and the strong arm at her back. “You’re _carrying_ me?”

“Nothing gets by you.”

“Bellamy,” she says a little more shrilly, “you’re carrying me.”

He looks at her like she’s gone insane. Which, is not entirely out of the realm of possibility. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“Put me down.”

“What?”

“Put me _down,”_ Clarke repeats, starting to wriggle. Automatically, he tightens his grip against her flailing, but when that just makes it worse he sets her on her feet, his expression turning incredulous.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” She pokes him, hard, then shoves him. “You _carried_ me for— for—”

“An hour,” Raven pipes up behind her.

Clarke turns, nostrils flaring. “Keep going. All of you,” she adds pointedly. Raven still lingers, looking between the two of them. “I mean it, Raven.” Something in her voice finally makes Raven nod and accept Monty’s outstretched arm. Clarke waits until they’ve disappeared into the trees before turning back to Bellamy.

He looks more hurt than anything else, and that’s what does it, that’s what finally breaks through all her worries about crossing lines because he’s so _good_ and he can’t even see it, and she needs to at least _try._

Clarke takes a step closer, and another. “You carried me for a whole hour, even after your shoulder was hurting again. Why?” 

A flash of surprise crosses his face before he can hide it. Of course he wouldn’t think she’d notice; little does he know she notices just about everything when it comes to him. 

Softer, she says, “You’ve been favoring it for the past two days. You didn’t need to carry me.”

“You fell asleep,” Bellamy says as if that should explain everything.

“So why not wake me up?”

He shrugs, uncertain. “I thought— I thought you could use the rest. You looked tired, and you did so much negotiating earlier, I thought— Clarke, wait, what are you—” Eyes wide, he raises his hands to where hers have clasped around his neck. His fingers brush against her bare forearm, then retreat again to his side, flexing uncontrollably.

“Bellamy,” she sighs, nudging her nose against his neck. He goes still. “Bellamy,” she says again, waits for him to meet her eyes. He looks about as nervous as she feels, so at least they’re on the same page per usual. “You’re so thoughtful," she tells him. "So thoughtful and brave and stubborn and kind and _good._ So I’m going to kiss you, because I want to. Because I’ve been _wanting_ to.” Clarke takes a trembling breath, pushes herself to her tiptoes until she can butt her nose against his. “Okay?”

Bellamy stares, uncomprehending for several seconds until something clicks for him, tells him it’s real. “O-okay,” he whispers. He still doesn’t seem able to move, so she holds his eyes and closes the gap between them until there’s nothing left.

His lips are chapped in a few spots, the roughness at contrast with the rest of his skin, so soft and warm under her fingertips. She doesn’t do much but gauge the fit of their lips with soft pecks, smiling at the awed breath that escapes him when she kisses the corner of his mouth, the arch of his cheek. Eyes still closed, her mouth finds its way back to his, and god, she really needs him to do something, because now that she’s kissed him once she might not ever stop and it would really suck if he didn’t—

Bellamy’s hands frame her face, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. “Do you ever stop thinking,” he mutters. Her affronted squeak is muffled by his lips, and this time _he’s_ kissing _her,_ patient and coaxing and unbearably tender until she’s holding onto him just to stay upright. His arms slide round her waist, pull her flush until she’s sure he can feel her heart beating against his chest. She chases his tongue, whines softly when he pulls away for a breath and curls her fingers into his thick hair, tugging him right back. His laugh is sweet against her lips, full of joy and wonder and all the good things she'd thought were long lost. 

Eventually parting for air, Clarke lets herself watch him with open adoration, feeling a fierce surge of pride at the full redness of his mouth and the delight in his smile. She cradles his cheek, absently tracing the contours of his face and the wild curls at his temple until he turns to press a loving kiss to her palm. 

“What’re you thinking now?” He asks.

“I’m thinking that I love you.”

His breath catches. Clarke knows she’s never going to forget the way he looks in this moment, the wave of emotions that take him from startled to wondering to just blissfully happy. She leans in, nips at his jaw and murmurs the words into his skin again, against his neck, against his cheek, against his lips.

Bellamy laughs and ducks to nuzzle her neck, nipping once or twice and grinning when she fists his jacket a little unsteadily. “Come here,” he says, affectionate, and she goes willingly, wrapped in his embrace and completely lost to the world until a boom of thunder startles them both.

Glancing up, they find dark clouds not far away, slowly taking over the formerly blue sky. 

“Shit, Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice rumbles lowly against her cheek, sends shivers down her spine. “Why would you kiss me when we’re still half a day’s walk from camp?” 

She grins and bites his lip a little extra hard. “I’m difficult like that.”

“Yeah, you are. Good thing I love you,” he says, and she laughs against his mouth, a bit breathless and giddy, because yeah, hearing that from Bellamy is pretty spectacular.

Despite several more rumbles of thunder in the distance, they don’t move, too absorbed in making up for lost time. Bellamy especially has a bad habit of pulling back to study her, then getting a stupid grin on his face and just hauling her close again, no doubt to make it even more obvious to everyone within a hundred miles that they’ve been doing nothing but making out. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke laughs when the first raindrops hit her face. “We’re about to get rained on.”

“Woe is me,” he says, and leans in to steal whatever breath she has left.


End file.
